Unbreakable
by Jo. R
Summary: Abby learns that twenty years of freedom isn't long enough when someone from the past won't let her go. Can the team help her be unbreakable or will she fall? Abby-centric; please read the author's notes.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Unbreakable  
Author: Jo. R (driftingatdusk)  
Rating: FR-18 for sensitive themes  
Warning: Abuse, Violence, Adult themes  
Pairings: None.  
Category: Angst, Drama, Team, Case-file, Abby/Tony friendship, Abby/Ziva friendship, Abby/Gibbs friendship, Abby/McGee friendship.  
Spoilers: Tiny one for 'Bloodbath'.  
Summary: Abby learns that twenty years of freedom isn't long enough when someone from the past won't let her go. Can the team help her be unbreakable or will she fall?  
Authors Note: Read the warnings, they're there for a reason.  
Authors Note 2: I've had this finished for over a year. It's... For reasons I can't explain, this story means something to me so I've been reluctant to post/share it mostly due to apprehension on my part as to how it'll be received.

* * *

There were some things not even her closest friends knew. The people she called her family, the ones she relied on and would do anything for, she loved them all but still hadn't been able to bring herself to let them in on the secret of her past.

Once or twice, she'd come close to telling Gibbs. If she'd ever gotten close to telling one of them, confiding the whole truth and nothing but the truth, it was to him.

Sitting in the bar with the others, the five who, like her, survived, Abby Sciuto wasn't entirely sure what had kept her from doing so.

It wasn't as if she was ashamed of what had happened. It wasn't as if she'd asked for it or done anything to deserve it; she'd been a happy-go-lucky teenager on her way home from a friend's house, seventeen years and four months old.

How could she have known there was someone following her home that night? How was she to know she'd already been picked, one of a dozen, hand-picked to order? To be beaten and broken until she was weak and willing to do anything to save herself the pain and humiliation?

Tears stung her eyes even as the shot she downed stung and burned its way down her throat.

She couldn't understand why she couldn't tell them. She was open about pretty much every other aspect of her life – too open, in some respects. She loved and trusted them all beyond measure but there was still something making her hold back, a little nagging voice that she couldn't silence despite her best efforts.

Gibbs would be protective and strong for her sake. He'd be hurt at first, that she kept it from him. But then he'd remember how he'd kept secrets, too. Then he might get a little angry about it – not at her, she knew, but at the situation. Frustrated because he hadn't been able to protect her or help her or save her. And then he'd hold her, hug her. Kiss her cheek and make her feel safe. He'd probably take her home that night and try teaching her the art of woodworking again just so he could keep her close and reassure himself as well as her that she was okay.

Ducky would be sympathetic and, she imagined, aghast that she'd kept it to herself for so long. He would listen patiently as she talked about, encourage her to talk more when she wanted to clam up and forget she'd said anything. He'd pour her cup after cup of tea and find exactly the right words to say when she needed to hear them the most.

Tony would handle it better than most who knew him would believe. He'd be calm and in that, she would take comfort. He would listen to her patiently and offer her a night or maybe a week of movie marathons at his apartment or hers. He'd worry about her, hover over her for a while. Watch her when he thought she wasn't looking but smile and claim otherwise when she caught him.

McGee... She wasn't sure what McGee would do. He'd be sweet and stumble over his words and probably be awkward with her at first but wouldn't turn her away if she asked him for a hug. She wondered if knowing the truth, if knowing her secret, would change the way he looked back on their previous relationship, if it would change the way he looked at her now.

Ziva would understand. She would offer a shoulder to cry on and listen without comment, without judgement to everything Abby had to say. She would offer to track down and kill anyone living who'd had anything to do with it whereas Gibbs, if he were to know, would be tempted to do so without asking for her approval first.

"Hey, Abby!" Lori Cleaves slid onto the barstool beside her, a sweet smile on her face as her face shone with perspiration from her efforts on the dance floor. "Why aren't you dancing?"

Abby tried to smile at the pretty redhead but couldn't quite manage it for long. Lori was the one she liked most of her fellow survivors though all of them held a special place in her heart. Lori was the only one whom she'd known before entering what they now called the Hell House, though Lori's arrival had come three months after her own.

"Don't feel like it tonight," she admitted with a shrug of one shoulder. "You go. Keep dancing. Keep celebrating."

The smile dropped from Lori's face, concern lighting her blue eyes. "You, out of all of us, should be the one celebrating." She reached out and caught Abby's hand before the black-haired woman could reach for the new shot the bartender had placed in front of her. "Abby. We survived." Lori gave her a tremulous smile when Abby looked at her again. "Twenty-years ago, we got out of the Hell House. *You* got us out. Doesn't that make you happy?"

"Happy?" Happy that she'd survived it, yes. Happy she'd been able to help the others escape when she'd put a plan five-months in the making in to action, yes. Happy she'd been there, had to go through it all in the first? "I'm glad we all got out. The five of us. And I'm happy for you and the others that you're so pleased we've made it to this landmark."

"But not for yourself?" Lori pulled her hand back, confusion taking the place of her concern. "I don't understand, Abs. I thought you of all people..."

"I was there three months longer than you. Two months longer than anyone else in this bar." Abby reached for the shot glass, her fingers clenching around it. "Five of us got out but there were seven who didn't make it. Seven girls who never got to see what life had in store for them." She downed the shot, slamming the glass back down on the counter. "Why couldn't they survive, too, Lor? Why couldn't they get to party and celebrate twenty-years of freedom?"

Lori's expression softened sympathetically. "Maybe it was just their time."

A humourless snort of laughter escaped her. Abby rolled her eyes, lifting a hand to attract the attention of the bartender. "Sometimes I wonder how you can have so much faith, Lori."

"You usually have enough of your own." Lori held up a hand when the bartender started to pour them both a fresh drink. "Not for me, thanks." She waited until he'd gone before looking to her friend. "What's bothering you, Abby? The truth. This is me you're talking to. I know when you're lying."

Turning the shot glass, admiring the way the light reflected through the coloured liquid within, Abby took a few moments to arrange her thoughts. "Twenty-years is a long time, Lori. What've I got to show for it? You've got your faith and your photos and your travels. Rachel and Karin have their husbands and kids. Lindsey's happy with a new guy every six months. You've all moved on and got over it and are ready to celebrate what you've achieved over the last twenty-years and me..." She shrugged and stared sightlessly ahead of her at the spotlights reflected off the mirrored back of the bar. "I still haven't been able to bring myself to admit what happened to the people I'm closest to. There's something in me that won't let go of what happened. It happened twenty years ago and I know everyone involved is dead or behind bars but there's still a part of me that thinks it's not over."

There was a momentary silence, one in which Abby stared down at the liquid in her glass, her eyes stinging. Lori watched her, her heart aching for her friend, unable to find any words let alone the right ones.

Abby shook her head, pushing the shot glass away before getting to her feet. "I'm bringing you all down and I don't mean to. I don't want to, not today of all days." She leaned in to kiss Lori's cheek softly. "Enjoy the rest of your night, Lor. We'll meet for a late lunch tomorrow, okay? I've got the afternoon off so we can spend it doing whatever you want. I'll show you the sights."

"If you need me before that, call me." Lori stopped her from leaving with a hand on her arm. "I mean it, Abby. I'll tell the others you've got a headache or something but I won't be fobbed off with a phoney excuse."

"I'll call you," Abby promised. She gave Lori one last hug before leaving the bar, slipping past the bouncers on the door to join the thankfully short queue of people already waiting for a cab.

* * *

The NCIS Headquarters at the Navy Yard were somehow not what she'd been expecting. Lori walked through the security scanners with a nervous smile at the guard on duty, taking back the watch and bracelet she'd had to remove.

She fidgeted with the security pass around her neck as she stood in the elevator behind the agents who'd boarded after her, trying not to listen as two of them chatted about a case they were working on. She'd had enough of police talk in her childhood and still couldn't understand what had possessed Abby to choose to work in a profession that would remind her daily of the experience they'd had as teenagers.

She was relieved when they got out on the floor below hers, more so when the elevator doors slid open again to let her out. She hated small spaces, another throwback to what they'd been through. Elevators reminded her of cages and cages reminded her of...

Lori shook herself mentally. While Abby chose to confront her fears head on so that she could conquer them, Lori was happy to avoid them at all costs.

She walked out into the open plan office, her steps faltering when she realised she couldn't see Abby and had no idea where it was she was supposed to go.

A man in a suit brushed by her, his pace hurried. She followed slowly, watching as he dropped down into a chair at a neat desk with a sigh of relief.

"Just in time, McTardy," the man at the desk beside him said. "Lunch hour's called lunch hour for a reason, you know."

"There was a queue at the bank." The man who'd just sat down gave his colleague a dark look. "Of course if someone had put in for my share of Hanson's leaving present, I wouldn't have needed to go out at all, would I?"

As the two men bantered, Lori walked over to the desk of the dark-haired woman who watched them in open amusement, tangling her fingers in the strap of her pass nervously. "I'm sorry to interrupt..."

The woman turned at the sound of her voice, a polite albeit reserved smile on her face. "Are you lost?"

"Yeah, I guess." Lori gave her an embarrassed smile. "I was supposed to meeting my friend here for lunch, only she didn't tell me where to go after I got to this floor. Maybe you know her. Her name's Abby Sciuto?"

"Abby?" The woman's brow furrowed, her dark gaze drifting away from Lori to glance at the two men who's conversation had stopped around about the time Lori had spoken. "Abby is on a half day today," the woman answered. "She is not due in for another hour. Perhaps you were meant to meet elsewhere?"

Lori frowned and shook her head. "No, it was definitely here. She has the afternoon off, not the morning."

"But I thought..."

"You thought wrong. We all did. The temp updating the absence tracking system screwed up so it didn't highlight her not signing in this morning." The answer came from a third man, older than the other two, who swept past Lori to pick up a cell phone on the remaining empty desk in their section. He flipped the cell phone open and pressed it to his ear, his blue eyes glancing at her before fixing on the man who'd brushed past her. "McGee, see if you can track her cell. DiNozzo, try her home number."

"On it, Boss," came the answer from both men while the woman got to her feet, giving Lori a questioning glance.

"When did you last speak to Abby?" She demanded, her eyes narrowed as though in suspicion.

Lori balked and took half a step back. "We went out last night to celebrate. She left early, said she'd see me today." She looked beyond the woman to the silver-haired man scowling in impatience. "She hasn't come in this morning?"

The man looked at her, catching her gaze. "What were you celebrating?"

"Twenty-years," Lori hedged. She was pretty sure the people staring at her were the people Abby had told her about, the friends she called her family. The ones she hadn't told. Forgive me, Abby, she thought briefly, hoping the little voice in her head was wrong and that Abby's disappearance had nothing to do with their discussion at the bar. "Twenty years of freedom from the Hell House."

"Ziva." The sound of her name was obviously an order to do something. The woman – Ziva – nodded and retook her seat, her fingers flying over the keyboard. The man opened his mouth to say something else but was distracted by what he heard on the other end of the phone. "Abby. Where are you?"

Three things happened at once.

The one who'd been tasked with tracking her spoke up. "She's in New Orleans, Gibbs."

The plasma screen in between his desk and that of the man who'd been identified as DiNozzo flickered to life and images and news reports Lori had hoped she'd never see again appeared in full, terrifying colour.

"The Hell House is the nickname given to a place in New Orleans. Twelve teenage girls were abducted as part of a human-trafficking scam. Only five of them survived," Ziva announced grimly.

"Why were you celebrating...Oh, Abs." DiNozzo stopped mid-sentence, his eyes growing wider as an image of one of the five survivors overlapped the images of the house and the old newspaper headlines.

They all stared at the screen. A teenage version of Abby Sciuto, minus her tattoos and the smile they all knew so well, stared back.

"What are you doing there, Abs?" Gibbs, the man Lori could now place as Abby's boss and unmistakable leader of the team, stared at the image as he hit the speaker button on the phone he held.

Abby's voice filled the stunned silence, small and confused and obviously scared.

"I don't know, Gibbs. I woke up... I woke up in a ditch when my phone rang. I don't know how I got here. I don't know where I am."

* * *

Gibbs had someone, probably Tony, arrange for the local LEOs to pick her up and take her to the nearest hospital. The man himself had kept her on the phone until they'd got there, assuring her he was on his way and that everything was going to be okay.

For a little while, she let herself believe him.

She sat patiently through the checks the doctors at the hospital insisted on carrying out, offered advice to the lab tech who'd been instructed to take samples for a forensic kit and answered the questions of the cops as best as she could.

Her blood ran cold when the cop asking questions told her where she'd been found and she'd retreated into herself after that, drawing her legs up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them as she sat on the bed in a hospital gown, watching the minute hand of the clock on the wall opposite her go around.

Almost three hours after waking up to her cell phone ringing, the door to her room opened.

Abby held herself still as Gibbs walked into the room. She hated the lone tear that slid down her cheek but couldn't unclasp her hands to wipe it away; scared they'd tremble too much and embarrass her all the more.

"Abby." All but ignoring the officer still in the room, no doubt following his orders not to leave her alone, Gibbs covered the distance between them in four easy strides. He gazed at her with such compassion in his eyes that she realised he knew. Her eyes closed moments before his hand touched her cheek and she leaned into his palm. "Why didn't you tell me, Abs?"

She opened her eyes at the tone of voice he used, hurt but without reproach. It made her eyes sting all the more. "I didn't know how," she admitted softly. "I didn't... I wanted to tell you but the words wouldn't come."

With a sigh he couldn't keep back, Gibbs drew her against him gently, another sigh, one of relief, escaping him when she melted against him and wrapped her own arms around his middle.

"Sir?" The police officer who'd been sitting watching the scene play out spoke up. "Agent Gibbs?"

He kept one arm around her but turned to acknowledge the man who'd spoken. "Officer Smith?"

"My boss said to give you a full report, Sir." Officer Smith stood with his hands behind his back, waiting expectantly.

"I can tell you," Abby murmured from her place pressed against his side. She looked past Gibbs to give the officer a small, uncertain smile. "I think I know everything?"

Officer Smith nodded at her. "You do, Ma'am. But if you'd prefer not to..."

"I'll be fine, thank you."

Officer Smith looked to Gibbs. "In that case, I'll get back to the station and dig out the old case files for you, Agent Gibbs. If your people need anything, we'll be happy to help."

"My agents are waiting in the hall," Gibbs said, the sound of his voice stopping Officer Smith from leaving. "Could you give Agents McGee and David a lift back to your station? They can help you look for those files and bring 'em back to our hotel."

"Yes, Sir. Not a problem." Officer Smith seemed relieved not to have to handle the case himself and left the two with another nod.

As the door closed behind him, Abby released a sigh and drew back from Gibbs so she could make room for him to sit on the bed beside her.

"They found me two and a half miles away. From... from the house where they kept us. My shoes and the anklet I was wearing last night are missing." Her voice was surprisingly calm, her gaze fixed on the hands she kept clasped in her lap. "I don't know how I got here. I remember getting a cab home last night and walking up the stairs to my apartment but I don't actually remember unlocking the front door and going inside." When his hands covered hers, Abby looked up and met his gaze. "I have to go back there, Gibbs. I don't want to but I know I have to."

His hands tightened around hers, his normally light blue eyes dark with an emotion she couldn't place. "We'll go together, Abby. You don't have to do it alone."

Relief mingled with dread and knotted in her stomach, fighting against the urge to beg him to take her home to DC.

She had to go back, and that knowledge terrified her.

* * *

It looked inconspicuous from the outside. Old and rundown, with broken windows no one had cared to fix. Wood cladding hung off in places, rotted in others. The wooden steps had succumbed to damp rot and what looked like termites, making them potentially dangerous ground.

To many who passed, it would look like a sad reflection on old fashioned family values. A traditional building, left to fall into disarray, uncared for and fading into the obscurity only time could create.

To those that knew the truth and remembered the stories, it was an unlikely location for sick, horrific deeds that had forever changed the lives of those it had touched.

What had once been a carefully tended garden so as not to arouse suspicion from anyone passing by was an overgrown tangle of weeds and plants and bushes. Old trees stood tall and withered at its side, bent and gnarled as if too tired to stand up straight. As if knowing there was nothing to be proud about shielding this place from the ravages of the wind.

Abby looked up at the house and squared her shoulders against the shudder that worked its way down her spine.

The Hell House.

It didn't look as scary as she remembered but there was still something about it that made her want to turn and run the other way.

If not for the two people standing behind her, she thought she might have done.

Ziva and McGee were still at the local station, no doubt learning all they could about what had happened within the house's crumbling walls; Abby was afraid she was about to relive it.

"You can stay out here, Abby." It was Tony who offered, coming to stand on her right as Gibbs moved to stand on her left. "You don't have to go inside."

They would understand, she knew. They wouldn't think any less of her if she decided to do as he offered and stay in the car with the air conditioning on and the radio blasting out the local radio stations she'd grown up with.

They wouldn't think any less of her, but she would.

She gave him a smile of thanks and squared her shoulders instead of accepting the offer. It was after midday, the sun beginning to make its descent as shadows danced over the house and made it look more imposing than she thought it had a right to.

She was a grown up, she reminded herself. An adult who'd overcome the traumas of her youth. An adult in the midst of her second childhood some would argue, but maybe that was because she'd always felt a little robbed of the first.

"I can do this," she said, mostly to herself than the two men either side of her. "It's just a house."

Abby led the way through the overgrown grasses to the front of the house and the rotting steps. She took a deep breath and clenched her fists at her sides, determined to take the first step alone.

And stepped not into a house but straight into a nightmare.

* * *

_She was seventeen again, waking up to a world she no longer recognised._

_Her tongue felt heavy and dry in her mouth but she couldn't get it to move. Couldn't swallow, couldn't close her dry lips. She panicked, thought she was going to choke._

_She tried to move her hands, her arms. They wouldn't budge._

_She tried to move her feet, her legs, to roll over so that she wasn't lying on her stomach. She couldn't._

_Her hair fell like a heavy curtain over her eyes, over her face. She couldn't see, couldn't move._

_The cry for help couldn't leave her throat; it just echoed uselessly around her head._

_After a few moments of intense panic, moments that stretched into agonising minutes, she realised she could hear voices above the pounding in her head. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes and she blinked, the only physical movement her betrayal of a body would allow._

_"... seventeen, two parents, both deaf..."_

_"... she be missed?"_

_"...argument last night... runaway..."_

_They were talking about her, she realised with a jolt. How did they know her parents were deaf? How did they know she'd had an argument with them last night?_

_How did they know so much about her?_

_"... client willing to wait... wants her to be compliant.."_

_"... take a while... This one's feisty..."_

_A laugh, cold and unpleasant, one that scared her._

_"... most fun with those... cage in the cellar..."_

_She heard footsteps, felt the vibrations of them through the wooden floorboard her head was resting on._

_Coming closer, coming towards her, coming for her..._

_Abby squeezed her eyes shut as tight as they would go and tried to pretend she wasn't there._

* * *

"Abby?"

"Abs?"

She stumbled, almost tripping over her own feet. Abby blinked, brought back to the present as two pairs of arms reached out to steady her. She didn't miss the concerned glance they exchanged when they thought she wasn't looking but was too lost in the moment to call them on it.

The house smelt different. There was no underlying smell of bleach like it had once held before, no longer reminding her of the hospital room she'd spent an uncomfortable four hours in when she was six and had broken her arm falling out of the tree Ryan Parker dared her to climb. There was no cloying scent of vanilla trying to disguise it, either, though she remembered now, standing there in the present, that that had been the favoured smell of her captors.

It was damp and rotten and the dust in the air tickled the back of her throat and made her nose itch.

"I'm okay." She wasn't and they knew it but neither of them commented. Neither of them let her go, either. "We need to go to the cellar. It's through the kitchen, I think. Stairs are at the back of the house, anyway."

She moved to walk in the direction she'd indicated but Gibbs' hand tightening on her arm stopped her.

"Wait, Abby." He motioned to the floor with the hand that wasn't holding her in place. "Footprints."

In an instant, Tony was crouched down, studying them. He shone the flashlight he'd taken from his pocket over the indents in the dust, his brow furrowed as he looked up at the still standing pair. "They're fresh," he announced grimly. "One pair going that way, I'm guessing male sized eight. Two coming back out this way towards the front door. One is the same as the first but the second... Smaller, barefoot."

"Mine," Abby supplied, glancing at Gibbs with undisguised fear in her eyes. "I was here."

"You don't know that for sure." Gibbs was careful to keep his voice neutral. "Could be a homeless person using this place to shelter at night." Could be, but all three of them doubted it. "DiNozzo, go get the camera from the car. We need to document it before we contaminate the scene anymore than we have."

"On it, boss."

Without hesitation, his senior field agent went back to the car. Abby felt Gibbs' eyes on her and knew she was being studied. She did her best to meet and hold his gaze, trying to convince herself as much as him that she was fine with the current situation.

After a long moment, her gaze dropped.

"You don't have to do this," Gibbs told her gently. He moved closer to her, unapologetically invading her personal space the way he always had, something that reassured her that maybe not everything had to change as a result of the others knowing her secret. The hand he had on her arm moved upwards to touch her cheek, fingers moving effortlessly into the sign they both knew and treasured: 'my girl'. "No one will think any less of you if you go back to the car and wait for us to see what's down there."

"No one but myself." She gave him the strongest smile she could muster, catching his hand before it could fall away, squeezing his fingers in silent thanks. "I have to do this, Gibbs. It's been twenty years since I was here last and I have to prove to myself I'm not the same scared girl I used to be."

"Just don't forget that you're not alone this time," Gibbs reminded her quietly.

They waited in companionable silence for Tony to come back, both noticing but neither commenting that their hands remained joined. For Abby, it was a source of comfort and strength. For Gibbs, it was an attempt at keeping his forensic specialist from losing herself in her past.

When Tony returned with the kit from the back of the car, he and Gibbs got to work processing the scene as quickly and efficiently as they could, both wanting to get her out of the house and away from it as soon as possible. They worked in silence, with none of the usual banter, both shooting glances in Abby's direction to make sure she was okay.

Abby, for her part, stood with her arms wrapped around her middle. She shuffled occasionally on her feet in the boots that someone had given her at the hospital, a size too big but the gesture still appreciated. She stared at the footprints in the dust, knowing they'd be able to match the shoeless print to her own feet.

Wondering who would do it since she wouldn't be able to work the forensics of the case herself.

As soon as they were finished, Abby took a timid step towards the doorway leading to the kitchen, which in turn would lead to the cellar where she'd spent six months of her life, most of them planning her breakout but some, she was ashamed to admit, spent wishing for the freedom death could bring.

She squared her shoulders and clenched her hands into fists so tight that her fingernails, scraped clean at the hospital, dug into the flesh of her palms hard enough to create crescent-shaped indents that would take a while to fade.

Still, she insisted on leading the way to the cellar door, forcing herself forward when she would have preferred to go back.

The nightmare, she knew, had only just begun.

Gibbs insisted on going first down the stairs into the darkness that was her personal hell. He wouldn't hear otherwise, aiming his torch pointedly at the rotting steps, telling her they had no idea what was down there and he wasn't about to let the unarmed woman in boots that were too big break her neck in trying to find out.

In the end, having him in front and knowing Tony behind was a reassurance, a link back to reality that she found she desperately needed.

There were a dozen cages, like prison cells, all in a row against the walls. Rotting wood and crumbling brick covered the steel bars between them so that the one-time occupants had been unable to see each other. The floors were the same as always, compacted dirt littered in places with rusty nails and broken glass. There were no windows, the walls bricked up with a second layer to prevent the screams and shouts and cries of those kept down in the cellar from seeping out into the real world.

Abby shuddered and forced herself to take a deep breath of damp air. She picked her way carefully to the cage that had been hers, the place she'd lived and breathed and hurt for six months.

The door was open; the dirt on the floor was disturbed.

Tony or Gibbs, she wasn't sure which, shone their flashlight into it and something sparkled in its beam.

"I'll go, Abs." Gibbs touched her arm as he past her, giving a look to Tony that told his senior field agent to stay close. Crouching down in the small space, unable to stop his imagination from supplying him with images of a younger Abby curled up in the corner, Gibbs picked up the item that had caught the light, turning slightly to show it to the others.

"It's my anklet," Abby said in a whisper. "I was wearing it last night."

The silver chain was slipped inside a plastic evidence bag, and then secured in Gibbs' pocket. He straightened and turned in a full circle, noting that there was barely enough room for him to do so. Shining his torch in the corner of the cage, he found first one shoe, then another, his stomach twisting at the certain knowledge that Abby had indeed been brought back here. "Pictures, DiNozzo," he ordered, walking out of the cage to take Tony's place beside Abby.

"I was here, wasn't I?" She leaned into him when his arm went around her, her legs unsteady but somehow still holding her weight. "Someone brought me here and left me. Someone doesn't want me to forget."

"Maybe there's something someone wants you to remember," Gibbs murmured, brushing his lips against her temple as she trembled against him. "We'll figure it out, Abby."

Usually, she would have believed him without hesitation. This time, though, Abby couldn't be so sure.


	2. Chapter 2

She chose to stay with them at the hotel they'd booked rather than contact her brother and ask to stay with him for a few days. While Abby adored her niece and got on well with her sister-in-law, her relationship with her brother had been somewhat strained ever since they were children.

Ever since that year, she thought to herself as she got ready for bed, changing into the t-shirt she'd stolen from Gibbs' case and the sweatpants Ziva had lent her.

Across the room, Ziva sat cross-legged on one of the twin beds in the hotel suite they were sharing. She could feel the Israeli's eyes on her but wasn't sure how to start to a conversation. Abby knew that while she had been at the Hell house with Gibbs and Tony, Ziva and McGee had been learning everything there was to know about her previous stay at the house and that knowledge made her feel uncomfortable.

It made her feel exposed.

Once they'd both brushed their teeth and used the bathroom and slipped under the sheets of their respective beds, Abby realised she couldn't keep avoiding the conversation Ziva obviously wanted to have but was as uncertain as she was in how to start it. There was little chance she'd get to sleep anyway but none whatsoever as long as she felt Ziva's weighing her down.

Abby lay on her back, staring up at the cracks in the ceiling, wondering if they were something she should tell the hotel receptionist about when they checked out. "You're staring at me."

"I am sorry, Abby, I did not mean..." Ziva broke off with a sigh. "It is just that I do not know if I will be able to look at you in the same way again."

"Why not?" Her voice sounded small, even to her ears. Abby curled up beneath the blankets, clutching her pillow tightly, thankful that they'd already switched off the lights. "I'm still me."

"I did not mean it in a bad way, Abby." There was a rustling of sheets and Abby closed her eyes just as Ziva fumbled with the switch of the lamp between their beds, flooding the room with light. "It is because you have been through far more than I ever thought you had yet you are still, usually, one of the happiest people I have ever met. You are so good, Abby, and I do not understand how you can be after what you went through."

Abby sat up when Ziva crossed the room to sit on the edge of her bed. She looked at her friend and chewed her bottom lip anxiously. "You've been through things I can't even imagine – things I don't want to imagine – and you came out on the other side."

There was a slight pause during which a sad expression crossed over Ziva's features. "But I am not whole," Ziva admitted, her brown eyes locked with Abby's, far more expressive than she usually let them be. "You still open yourself to others; trust them with your whole heart. That is something I am unable to do."

"It's something you can learn to do." Taking her hand from the sheets, Abby covered the hand Ziva let rest net to her leg on the bedspread. "And I'm not as whole as you think I am," she murmured, dropping her gaze momentarily. Another pause filled the air between them, not quite awkward but not entirely comfortably. Then, with a bright smile that Ziva could see wasn't quite as genuine as she'd usually believe it was, Abby looked up once more. "I know that it's going to be hard but... Could you try?"

"Try?" Ziva arched an eyebrow, momentarily confused. "Try what?"

"To look at me the way you used to?" Abby's smile softened, turning tremulous at best. "I'm still the Abby I've always been, the one you've always known. Nothing about that has changed."

"You are right, of course." Ziva returned the smile with one of her own. She withdrew her hand from underneath Abby's only to move forward, embracing Abby in a tight hug, one of the first of the many between them that Ziva had initiated. "I will try, Abby. I promise."

Returning the embrace, the smile that curved up the corners of Abby's mouth was small but genuine. "Thank you."

They parted ways fondly and Ziva turned the light off on her way back to her own bed, plunging the room into darkness once more. Abby lay back against the pillows, waiting until her eyes adjusted before studying the ceiling once more.

* * *

At some point, she realised she was dreaming. Realising it didn't make her wake up instantly, though, nor did it stop her from being afraid.

_The ground was cold and damp underneath her; the mud clumped together in places where the most recently inflicted wounds had bled out onto it. She dug her bare toes into it, using the pain to keep herself focused. She didn't want to lose consciousness if she could help it; bad things happened to the girls when they were unable to defend themselves._

_Her ribs hurt from the kicks she'd taken when they'd punished her for trying to curl up in a tight ball. Her lip was cracked again, the blood dry and flaky. She thought she'd maybe hit her head at some point but couldn't remember when; either she'd been pushed into something or something had been deliberately aimed at her head but the whole thing was a blurred memory, one she didn't want to try and remember any clearly._

_She heard the girl in the cage next door to hers whimper and scooted closer to the bricked up wall between them. It'd been Maria's cage once, before Maria had left. She'd liked Maria; Maria had already been there when Abby had arrived and she'd tried looking out for the younger girl. Abby wondered sometimes if that was the reason Maria had been taken away. They'd started digging a shallow tunnel between their cages, just enough that they could slip their hands underneath the bricks and bars separating them. Even the touch of a hand from someone who didn't want to hurt you was comforting in the Hell House as Maria had called it once._

_"Hey," her voice hoarse from her cries, Abby spoke quietly, not wanting to be overhead by any of their captors. "My name's Abby. What's yours?"_

_The girl on the other side continued to whimper and sniff. Abby listened closely, letting her head rest against the bricks. They were slick with damp but a cool, welcome relief against her heated skin. After a long pause in which Abby thought she'd maybe lost consciousness at least once, a trembling voice answered._

_"Lori. My name is Lori."_

_And that was where the dream stopped being a memory, and started being something else._

_In reality, she'd pretended to be asleep when she heard the footsteps come down the stairs from the rooms above. In reality, they'd only stopped briefly at the door to her cage before moving on, not stopping until they were outside the cage three doors down from her own._

_In her dream, she kept her eyes focused on what was going on in front of her, terror and dread causing her stomach to roll as the door to her cage swung open._

_Cruel, hard eyes stared at her, appearing dark in the shadows of the cellar though she knew in reality they were green. A wicked grin spread thin lips against yellow teeth. His breath stank like stale alcohol, though it'd be a few years before she was able to put a name to the smell. He leaned in, reaching for her, and Abby automatically shrank back, a whimper escaping from her throat as she tried to evade the hands grabbing at her._

_"You were a bad girl," the man said, his voice low with malicious intent. "Maria wants to show you what happens to bad girls."_

_His fingers dug into the already tender flesh of her arm, creating a fresh layer of bruises over those already in existence. He dragged her up onto her bare feet and tangled his hand in her hair, yanking on her matted locks in an attempt at getting her to keep up._

_Something sharp dug into her foot half-way across the floor towards the stairs and she stumbled, a cry escaping her despite the way her teeth dug into her bottom lips. The sharp pain of her hair being pulled brought tears to her eyes and she crashed ungracefully into the stairs as he pushed her in front of him._

_Abby scrambled up the stairs as fast as she could, pushing herself up with weak arms and legs that threatened to give out on her with every stair she climbed. He yanked her up on her feet again when they got to the top and dragged her across to the kitchen door at a pace she couldn't match no matter how hard she tried._

_Tears slipped down her cheeks, stinging cuts she hadn't known were there on her cheeks. The blast of cool evening air was welcome even as the stones and twigs she stood on sliced her bare feet and brought fresh tears to her eyes. She sensed more than saw someone walking behind them, heard the footsteps and the telltale jingle of chains as she was led almost blindly to their destination._

_A small sapling stood in a plain ceramic planter, ready to be taken from its temporary home and put into the ground. Abby wondered why at first, her confused mind trying to process what he wanted to show her._

_It was then she noticed the hole in the ground, the one he was pulling her closer and closer to, and panic caused her throat to close up, mews of helpless protest escaping her even as dark spots appeared and began to dance in front of her eyes._

_"Look." His breath was hot against her ear and the skin of her neck and she squirmed instinctively, trying to get away. "Look what happens to bad girls," he murmured, lips a hairsbreadth from the shell of her ear. "Look into the hole."_

_She closed her eyes and shook her head, scared she already knew what he wanted her to see. It was only when the second person, the one trailing them, came to stand at her other side that Abby knew she had no choice._

_She opened her eyes and looked, bile rising in her throat as the sightless eyes of the girl she'd known as Maria stared up at her from inside the hole. Fresh blood oozed from a circular wound to the girl's temple and blood stained her lips and nose._

_"No. No, no, no, no." Abby shook her head in her dream; tried to wake herself up. "This isn't real, this isn't real. This didn't happen."_

_The two men either side of her laughed and she cried out when they each took an arm. They pushed her and she tumbled forward, falling into the hole, onto the cooling body of the girl who had been her friend._

_And she screamed._

* * *

Strong hands gripped her shoulders and shook her. Someone far away was screaming. It was only when the hands shook her again that Abby realised it was her. Her eyes flew open and she found herself gasping for breath just as the door to the room sprung open and swung back to hit the wall with a loud slam.

"It is alright, Abby, you are safe." The owner of the hands, Ziva, stared at her, dark eyes even darker with concern. One hand moved to wipe at the tears that ran down Abby's cheeks. "It was just a dream," Ziva continued soothingly, assuring both Abby and the three men who were still standing in the doorway of the room, guns in their hands. "It was just a dream."

Abby shook her head, her eyes darting around the room, taking in the tangled sheets around her legs and the way her vest top and shorts clung to the cool sweat that had broken out over her skin.

She looked at Ziva, at Gibbs, McGee and Tony, and shook her head again. It took two attempts at clearing her throat and a long drink from the glass of water that Ziva pushed into her hand before she was able to speak.

"It wasn't a dream," she told them, her voice hoarse from her cries and screams, her eyes flat as she wrapped her arms around herself in an effort at stopping the shivers that wracked her slender frame. "It was a memory, I think. But not one I remembered before."

* * *

They ended up standing before a row of trees that had been saplings twenty years ago with a group of local law enforcement officers wondering why they've been called from their beds in the dead of night. Abby shivered despite the clammy Louisiana night and wrapped her arms around herself, wondering why she'd never made the connection before.

Seven trees of the same or similar age.

Seven missing girls who'd never made it home.

Gibbs moved to stand beside her, pushing a Styrofoam cup in her hand. She knew before the first sip that it wasn't coffee; she was jittery enough without a jolt of caffeine.

The ground shuddered beneath them as the digger did its job and moved mounds of dirt and tree root away from the area she'd insisted they look.

If there was nothing there, she'd feel foolish.

If there was nothing there, she'd feel relieved.

She didn't look up from the hole that was being created, didn't need to to know that she and Gibbs had been joined by the others. They huddled around her, protecting her from the curious stares and questioning glances, and waited patiently.

The cop supervising the dig called out suddenly, sharply, holding up a hand to halt the motions of the digger. More light was poured into the hole and Gibbs, Ziva and Tony moved forward to see what the cause of it was.

McGee stayed, moving closer to her side. His arm brushed hers lightly.

She knew even before Gibbs started towards them, his blue eyes sharp but sympathetic at the same time.

"It's Maria," she whispered before he could speak, grateful for the arm McGee slid around her waist as her legs grew weak and trembled underneath her weight. "You've found Maria."

"We found some remains," Gibbs said, his voice calm though his eyes searched hers intensely. "You should go back to the hotel, Abby. You don't need to be here for this."

She held his gaze and was proud of herself for doing so, thought maybe she saw pride in his face that she could, too. "You're going to find the others," she told him matter-of-factly, confident that she was right despite her desperate wishes that she wasn't. "I want to be here for that. I want to be here for them."

He stared at her for several long moments, waiting for her to blink or look away first. When she didn't, he gave her a small nod before his gaze flicked to McGee's and back in a silent order for the younger agent to stay with her. "Let me know if you change your mind."

Abby gave him a small smile of thanks before he turned on his heel to rejoin Tony and Ziva, cell phone already in hand no doubt to call Doctor Donald 'Ducky' Mallard to get the ME involved in the case. McGee stayed at her side, his arm slipping from her waist though he still stayed close enough for her to feel his warmth.

"You want to wait in the car?" McGee asked after a few moments, his voice a low murmur she only just heard over the sound of the digger's engine starting up again.

The worried glances she got from Tony and Ziva, along with the continued stares of the local cops on scene almost made her say yes. But then she saw the remains of the girl she'd known as Maria lifted out of the hole in the ground where she'd spent the last twenty years and changed her mind, shaking her head even as her hand searched for and found his, her grip painfully tight. "I'll stay," she told him with more bravado than she felt. "They deserve that much."

McGee said nothing but gave her hand a quick squeeze. He stood at her side, a silent tower of strength, as six more bodies were unearthed from their premature graves.

* * *

Maria Southern.

Jessica Young.

Adrianne May.

Debi Layland.

Katie Masters.

Molly Scott.

Tracey Jones.

Their smiling, innocent faces looked up at him from the front page of the newspaper he held with clenched hands.

Seven girls, missing no more.

He'd read the article half a dozen times and still wasn't able to truly comprehend the black words printed on the white page. He understood that their bodies had finally been discovered, that the case into what the journalists at the time had called the 'Hell House' had been temporarily re-opened.

He read that it was a former occupant of the house, another victim, who'd come forward with the information after twenty years. Who'd *remembered* the information after years of suppressing the memory of what had happened to those who hadn't survived.

It didn't mention her by name but he had a sinking feeling he knew which of the survivors it was. She'd always been the brightest, the most astute. He remembered she was the one who'd orchestrated their escape, the one who'd been there the longest and learnt all of the weakness she and the others exploited in order to get free.

He wished, for her sake, that she'd stayed away.

Knew that, if given a choice, she would have.

With trembling hands, he reached for the phone on the table beside his arm chair, his fingers fumbling over the buttons as he dialled a number that he'd memorised years ago but hoped he'd never have cause to use.

The caller answered within two rings, snappy and impatient. "What do you want?"

"Why?" was all he said. "Why now?"

* * *

Looking up at the outside of the white-washed house she'd grown up in, Abby wondered if it would ever feel like home again. She'd been forced to either call her brother and ask if she could pick up the clothes she'd left in what used to be her childhood bedroom or go shopping for a new set of clothing and had decided to go with the lesser evil. Comfortable, familiar clothes would be better than starchy new ones; she hoped they'd help make her feel more like the woman she'd become, too, instead of the child she once was.

All three of Gibbs' agents had offered to come with her to the house and she knew it wasn't just because they were curious to see where she'd lived. They were all keen to keep her close, all wanting to protect her in the present since they'd had no way of doing so in the past. In the end, though, she'd been saved the unenviable task of having to chose between them and risk hurting their feelings as Gibbs had simply told her he'd drive her there and back, doling out orders to the others either to continue digging in the past for clues of who might be responsible for bringing her to New Orleans or to support the families of the recently discovered girls as they were once more put through the nightmare of losing a child.

No one had argued with him, partly because of who he was, partly because of his relationship with Abby, the exact nature of which was constantly up for discussion amongst his agents, and partly because they knew he could more than empathise with the parents of the dead girls.

"You okay, Abby?" He came around the side of the car to stand beside her, a neutral expression on his face as he joined her in surveying the house. "If you want to wait in the car, I can handle your brother."

A small smile quirked the corners of her mouth. "He's not that bad, Gibbs. I can handle him." Her smile slipped a little when he turned his attention from the house to her. "It's just being here, having to go through it all again." She shrugged one shoulder, pushing her hands into the pockets of the long, light coat Ziva had leant her. "I feel like a kid again. Powerless."

"You're not." The look on his face was serious, only his eyes betraying his concern. "You've come a long way from the teenager you were, Abby. Don't forget that."

She gave him a small smile of thanks but they both knew it was easier said than done, especially given they were no further forward in discovering how she'd come to be back in New Orleans. Someone had brought her, an unknown face who had gone to great lengths to ensure she got there.

Someone who'd yet to make his or her motives known.

She squared her shoulders, only to let them slump when he moved a hand to the small of her back, using the slightest bit of pressure to get her moving up the path towards the brightly painted red front door.

* * *

From his chair, he heard the front door open and close. He listened, heart beating a mile a minute, as the footsteps got closer, as a floorboard creaked beneath the feet of his visitor. He held himself still, doing his best to keep his expression neutral even as he looked up and stared into the eyes that were so similar to his own.

"What did you do?" He demanded, his throat dry as he looked at the man who was so much like himself but so very, very different, too.

His visitor shrugged carelessly and moved to sit in the seat opposite him, pose casual and relaxed. "What makes you think I did anything?"

Throwing the newspaper across the room with as much strength as he could muster, he glared at the newcomer. "They found the bodies. *She* led the way."

Instead of looking at the news story, his visitor simply folded it neatly and set it on the arm of the chair he was sitting in. "It doesn't mention a name."

"You and I both know who it was. What I want to know is how you got her here, and why you felt the need." Anger gave way to exhaustion and he leaned back in his chair again, weary now as he stared at his visitor. "It's been twenty years. Why couldn't you just let the past stay where it belongs?"

Again, his visitor shrugged and made a show of studying perfectly manicured fingernails in the pause between the question being asked and the answer being given. "Twenty years ago, you made me a promise," the visitor answered eventually, quietly but evenly. "You told me I could have my pick of them."

Distress and horror flickered over the older man's features at the words of the man he'd summoned to his house. "That was a long time ago. That was then. Surely you're not thinking what I think you are?"

His visitor smiled, showing gleaming white teeth. "I'm taking what's rightfully mine. What you owe me but failed to deliver."

"You're insane." He shook his head, hands clutching the arms of his chair tightly, knuckles growing white. "You're crazy. You could've left everything alone. Could've got away but now..."

"I'll still get away with it all." The smug arrogance with which the words were delivered caused his blood to boil. "I'll get away with it because you let me twenty years ago."

"You stupid idiot," he seethed, his face flushing an unhealthy purple as his hands tightened their grip even more. "You think I did that to protect you? So you could do this? Haven't you put that girl through enough?"

"Me?" His visitor stood and stalked forward until he was towering over him. "You're the one who put her there in the first place, father. You might have painted yourself as their saviour but you and I both know the truth. You may have helped get them out but only after you'd put them there in the first place."

His shadow disappeared and his footsteps sounded against the thinly carpeted floor. The same floorboard squeaked and the door closed not with an angry slam but with a measured click.

He sat in his chair and a tear rolled slowly down his age-weathered cheek.

* * *

"You can stay here, you know." Her sister-in-law, Claudia Sciuto, told her brightly as she watched Abby move around her old bedroom, packing a well-worn backpack with the clothes she found. "You're always welcome, Abby. Any time. We'd love to have you stay with us for a while."

While Abby thought Claudia might mean it one level, she was certain on another that the invite was given out of obligation. Claudia was aware that Abby still had owners rights on half of the house she'd made into her home, not knowing that it was Abby's intention to bequeath her share to the little blond haired girl giggling happily as she helped her Aunt stuff clothes into the backpack like it was a newly discovered game.

"I'm fine at the hotel," Abby said, throwing a smile over her shoulder at her sister-in-law to take the edge from her words. "It's easier if I'm near the others."

Claudia gave her a nod but the smile still stayed in place. "Well, maybe another time." The smile faded a little when Abby went back to packing. "He misses you, Abby. I know he'll never say it but he really does miss you."

Knowing the 'he' in question was her brother, Abby was doubtful. Nicholas Sciuto hadn't said a word to her since she'd entered the house and she hoped, belatedly, that he wasn't being too rude to Gibbs, who was waiting for her downstairs. "If he misses me, all he has to do is pick up the phone and say so. He knows that, Claudia. He's always known it."

"He's a man, Abby. Men are stubborn." Claudia heaved a long-suffering sigh. "You'll have to make the first move or no one will."

"I can't make the first move when I don't know what I did wrong in the first place." Abby was careful to keep her voice low, flashing a smile at the little girl so not to cause her any concern. Once the bag was packed, she straightened and put the strap over her shoulder before opening her arms to the little girl who started bouncing expectantly on the bed. "You get bigger every time I see you, Izzy."

The little girl grinned and shifted to plant a big, soppy kiss on her aunt's cheek in response before babbling a stream of nonsensical words that made Abby smile even though she didn't understand the majority of them.

Claudia sighed again, no doubt at the stubbornness of her husband and sister-in-law, and led the way downstairs to the living room, where the two waiting men stood in stony silence.

"I was just telling Abby she should come and stay with us sometime," Claudia announced gaily, walking across the room to join her husband in front of the fireplace. She hooked her arm through his and smiled cheerfully. "We'd love to have her stay with us, wouldn't we, Nick?"

Nick's expression didn't change. He glanced in his sister's direction but couldn't quite meet her eyes. "Yeah. Sure."

Gibbs said nothing but moved to stand beside her.

"Sure," Abby echoed. She gave her niece a final kiss before setting the little girl down on her feet, watching fondly as she tottered over to her parents. "Well, I think I've got everything I need so we'll get out of your way."

"You're sure you don't want to stay for coffee? Tea?" Claudia nudged her husband non-too-subtly in the side but Nick didn't respond. "You don't have to rush off, do you?"

"Thank you for the offer, Mrs. Sciuto," Gibbs spoke up, saving Abby from having to make an excuse. "But we've got to meet a friend of ours at the airport."

"That's right, we do." Not knowing if it was true or not, Abby led the way out of the room into the hallway. She turned around to give Claudia a quick hug and waved at her niece, who waved back from the comfort of her father's arms. "It was good seeing you again," she murmured. "Maybe next time the circumstances will be better."

"I hope so." Claudia smiled and took Isabelle from her husband's arms, standing at the doorway to wave them off as they made their way back down the path to the car parked at the curb.

Abby held back her sigh until she was in the car, her bag safely stored away in the trunk. "He couldn't even look at me," she mumbled, mostly to herself. "I wish I knew what I'd done."

Gibbs said nothing but reached across to take her hand for a few brief moments before withdrawing to start the engine.

* * *

The airport was busy but Abby decided to join him instead of waiting in the car. She liked to people watch and took advantage of the time they spent waiting for Doctor Donald 'Ducky' Mallard and Jimmy Palmer's plane to land to study the people milling around them.

She caught the eye of a passing stewardess and returned the smile she was given before turning her attention to a woman who squealed before throwing herself happily into the waiting arms of her partner.

"Mrs. Thomas?" The sound of a voice so close to her made her jump and Abby found herself wishing she'd stuck with Gibbs rather than staying next to the arrival's gate while he checked out the board of arriving flights. "I thought it was you. I'm so glad you're feeling better."

Abby glanced around, thinking at first the dark skinned stewardess whose name badge identified her as Julia was talking to someone else. Realising there was no one else in earshot, she fixed a smile on her face and shook her head. "I'm afraid you've got me confused with someone else. I'm not Mrs. Thomas."

Julia's brow furrowed and she studied Abby closely. "I don't have you confused, Mrs. Thomas. I know faces. You and your husband flew out from DC two nights ago. You weren't very well, of course, so I'm not surprised you don't recognise me."

Alarm bells went off in her head and Abby looked around desperately for Gibbs. "I... I was on a flight with you two nights ago?"

"Yes, you were." Julia gave her a concerned look. "Is your husband here, Mrs. Thomas? You don't look very well."

"No. I'm... I'm okay." Abby tried to smile but failed. "I..." She broke off, relief lighting her face when she spotted Gibbs coming towards her. She grabbed his arm as soon as he was within reach, fingers digging into the muscle beneath his shirt and jacket. "Gibbs, this woman – Julia – recognised me from a flight two nights ago. She said I was travelling with my husband."

"Is there some kind of problem?" Julia looked between the two of them, bewildered, and started to take a step back when Gibbs reached into his pocket. Her dark eyes widened when he showed her his badge. "What... Is there a problem, Officer?"

"It's Agent. Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS." Gibbs gently eased Abby's hand from his arm but kept her fingers encased in his own. "Abby was abducted two nights ago from Washington DC. You say you recognise her from a flight you were on, Ms...?"

"Doyle. Julia Doyle." She bit her lip and wrapped her arms around her middle. "I'm sure she was on it, Sir. With a man who said he was her husband. She was sedated but he had a note from a doctor at a local hospital saying she was ill and had been given medication to help her get through the flight." She glanced at Abby, her eyes wide. "I'm sorry, Ma'am. I didn't know... If I had..."

"You're not in any trouble," Gibbs told her soothingly. "But we're going to need any details you can give us about the man who travelled with her. A description, seat number, flight details. Anything that can help us find out who he is."

Julia nodded, her arms dropping to her sides. "I can get you the flight details, no problem. And I can get you the names of the others who were part of the cabin crew for the flight. Maybe they can tell you something I can't."

"That would be great, Ms. Doyle." Gibbs gave her a small smile and looked from her to the pale, trembling woman at his side. "It's okay, Abby." He gave her hand a squeeze. "We're getting somewhere."

Abby said nothing but scooted closer to him, her eyes wide and unblinking as she stared unseeingly at the floor at their feet. She stayed that way while Gibbs took Julia's details, stayed that way until she heard Ducky's voice asking her gently if she was okay.

Lifting her head, she stared into the kindly eyes of the medical examiner who'd become a substitute father figure in her life in the ten-plus years since she'd worked with him at NCIS. "I don't know, Ducky," she told him honestly, her voice breaking a little on the words. "I just don't know anymore."

* * *

"They're on to me," he announced quietly, having let himself into the house once more. His father sat in his chair as usual, staring at him, eyes wide. The old man couldn't move easily anymore, a victim of arthritis and old age in general. "I followed them to the airport and someone recognised her."

The old man averted his gaze but not before a flash of triumph was visible in his eyes. "You should have left the past where it was," he told his son wearily. "Should've let the girl move on."

"You promised her to me," his son raved, running a hand through his much-mused hair. "You promised I could have her when I was eighteen. A sample of the merchandise, you said. A reward for all the hard work, for describing them and keeping tabs on them at school."

"I was wrong," his father said simply. "I was wrong about a lot of things back then."

"It's your fault," he insisted, pacing the small room in front of his father's armchair. "You got me into this. You got me involved."

"I've regretted that every day," came the tired answer. "Every day of my life since then, I've wished I could go back and change things."

He shook his head and glared at him. "Well, you can't. I can't. What's done is done."

"It *was* done. Then you had to bring it all back." His father glared back with as much fervour as the old man could muster. "You should have let it go. You should have let her go. But no, you're a fool. A fool who's spent twenty years living in the past, dwelling on how you think it should've turned out instead of the way it was. You got too caught up in it. You should've got out when I did but no, you couldn't do that. You liked the power, the control. You ever wonder why I got out when I did, son? You ever wonder why I wanted it to stop?"

"Because you're weak," he spat bitterly, his expression derisive. "Because you realised you might get caught and it scared you. You didn't have the guts to go through with it. Not like the others. They were brave while you... You were just pathetic."

His father shook his head vehemently. "I got out because of you. Because I saw you were enjoying it, sneaking around, watching them suffer. I saw how it got to you, how much you wanted to be a part of it and I realised... I realised it was wrong. It was all wrong. They were girls with lives ahead of them, not a means to make a fortune or toys to be used in a sick game of power and control." His father's voice grew sad, drained. "I should have handed you over to the police, given myself up at the same time. If I'd known how obsessed you'd become, how ill you were..."

He didn't get to finish the sentence, the rest of his regrets going unheard.

A small pop of the silenced gun and blood streamed out from around the small hole in his father's forehead.

He stared at his father's body for several moments, taking the time to regain his composure. He walked out of the room, up the creaking stairs to the bedroom that had been his as a child, staring at his reflection as he fixed his hair and changed the blood splattered shirt for a fresh, crisp one.

The photographs he'd kept as souvenirs from the Hell House stared up at him from the old desk where he'd sat and fantasised instead of doing the homework his teachers had set him. He looked down at them, a small smile on his face as his fingers carefully sifted through them, searching the faces of the girls he'd helped find until he found the one he was looking for.

She was his age, the youngest of the girls they'd taken. He'd liked her in school but she hadn't noticed him, too caught up in her studies and her friends and her family. He'd watched her for weeks before highlighting her as a possible candidate to his father, followed her as she snuck out of the house night after night to go to either the scrap yard, which he'd never understood, or to a concert of a band whose music he couldn't stand.

He'd watched her have an argument with her parents that night, shouting and screaming things that they couldn't hear at them, no doubt repeating what she'd said with her hands.

He'd watched her sneak out of the house again, bag slung over her shoulder. Followed her to her friend's house and told his father's associates where they needed to be in order to catch her unaware.

He'd waited patiently for months, biding the time until his eighteenth birthday, until his reward.

A reward he'd had to wait for since she'd escaped just days before it had arrived, a reward that was twenty years in the making.

A reward he would soon claim as his.

* * *

Gibbs and Tony took charge of interviewing the cabin crew while McGee and Ziva took responsibility for getting as much information on the mysterious Mr. Thomas who'd claimed Abby was his wife and procured the CCTV footage from both the airport in DC and the airport in New Orleans to study. Ducky and Jimmy got to work with the local coroner for assistance, their task to identify the bodies they'd found through whatever means necessary.

Alone, having insisted she would be okay, Abby sat in the hotel room she was sharing with Ziva, the newspaper clippings and reports that had been left behind spread out in front of her. She read and re-read every word, reliving it all, remembering the way it had felt, smelt, the way everything had sounded.

She read the articles about each of the missing girls, herself included. Read statements from their parents and friends, transcripts of press conferences in which they'd begged for the safe return of their daughters. Read a short interview with the man who'd found them in the woods and led them to safety, a reluctant hero, the papers said.

There was no pattern in the way the girls looked or the interests they had. There'd been an assortment of blonds, redheads, brunettes and black-haired girls who'd been abducted. She remembered the conversation she'd overhead, about clients and specifications and girls taken to order.

Her stomach rolled at what those clients had wanted them for and she took a deep breath, fighting the near-overwhelming wave of nausea that crashed over her.

She'd survived, she reminded herself. She'd gotten away before she'd had to find out first-hand.

Still, that didn't stop the images from spinning in her mind, the possibilities she knew she'd narrowly escaped. Working in her chosen field had educated her further in the ways of the world, in the darker parts of it most liked to pretend didn't exist. She knew how lucky she was to have escaped the way she had and never forgot that, especially not when they were dealing with a case that was so similar to her own.

She wondered if the team would start to treat her differently through those cases because they knew the truth. She hoped not, hating the thought of them treading on eggshells around her, treating her like she was something fragile and easily broken.

When the telephone in the room rang, Abby jumped, her heart beating unsteadily in her chest. She shook her head at herself and reached for the offending item, taking a deep breath before answering it. "Hello?"

"It's me, Abby," Tony's voice came through the speakers clearly. "We think we've got a break in the case. I'm heading over to pick you up."

"What kind of break?" Her hand tightened on the receiver. "Tony?"

"We think we've identified the guy who brought you here," Tony told her quietly. "Gibbs is taking Ziva and McGee to bring him in now but he thought you'd want to be here. Maybe you'll remember something..."

Abby nodded, and then remembered he couldn't see her through the phone. "I would, yeah. I'll see you soon, Tony."

"Be there in five minutes, Abs." Tony hung up without saying goodbye, a habit he'd picked up from Gibbs, Abby knew.

She paced the room restlessly, alternately wrapping her arms around her waist then letting them hang loosely at her sides. Questions ran through her mind at lightning speed, too fast for her to make sense of them.

She tried sitting down but couldn't stay still for long, jumping up as soon as she heard the knock on the door to her room. Abby swung the door open, the words tumbling from her mouth. "Tony! That was the fastest five minutes, well, it felt like fifty but... You're not Tony."

The man on the other side of the door smiled at her gamely. He was immaculately dressed, his hair perfectly in place, his smile blinding and his eyes twinkling. "Hello, Abigail. It's been a long time."


	3. Chapter 3

They found the body of Reginald Bronson Senior sitting in his armchair, a neat bullet wound to his head. Gibbs ordered Ziva and McGee to search upstairs as he'd taken the ground floor, calling Ducky on his cell phone as he did so.

The son, the man Julia and her colleagues had identified, was gone.

Reginald Bronson Junior was a doctor who'd travelled back and forth to Washington DC several times over the last few months under the name of Robert Thomas. Gibbs didn't want to think about why he'd made so many frequent visits, didn't want to think about the man being so close to Abby for so long with no one knowing about it.

He heard Ziva and McGee declare upstairs clear, then heard them come downstairs, both clutching plastic evidence bags.

"Photographs from inside the house," McGee announced, evidently sickened. "Looks like there was a hidden camera or something in the cellar with them." He paused for a split-second. "The picture of Abby was on top of the pile."

Ziva handed him her own evidence bag, her expression grim. "Fake ID for Doctor Robert Thomas and his wife, Dana."

"Probably has another identity ready," Gibbs thought aloud. "One he doesn't think we can trace." He opened his mouth to give them further instructions but closed it when his cell phone rang, flipping open the phone when he saw Tony's number on the display. "Gibbs."

* * *

He pulled up just in time to see her drive off with another man. Nick hit the steering wheel in frustration and started backing out of the hotel parking lot only to slam his foot down on the brake as another car sped into the lot behind him. He watched as a man got out, his car blocking Nick's own, and raced into the hotel, resigning himself to sitting and waiting.

When the man returned a few minutes later, a frantic expression on his face and his phone pressed to his ear, Nick wound down the window in order to ask him to politely move his vehicle but the request died on his lips as he overheard one side of the conversation.

"Abby's gone, Boss. The door was open, her stuff was still there. The girl on reception says she left with a man fitting Bronson's description."

"Abby?" Nick pushed open his door as the other man walked by. He manoeuvred himself to stand in front of him, blocking the way to the man's car. "Abby Sciuto?"

"Wait a minute, there's a guy here who knows her." The man stopped and stared at him almost accusingly. "You know Abby?"

"I'm her brother," Nick replied swiftly, running a hand through his hair. "I saw her leave about five minutes ago with some guy. Is she in trouble?"

The man pulled out a badge from his pocket, flashing it as he introduced himself. "Tony DiNozzo. I work with your sister at NCIS. Boss, Abby's brother's here. He said he saw her leave five minutes ago." Tony waited for a moment, listening to what was said on the other end of the phone. "Did you see which direction they went in? Did she look like she was being threatened?"

Nick blinked, searching his mind, picturing his sister. "She looked pale," he said slowly, "she was all hunched up in the passenger seat. They went left at the junction." Left towards the Hell House. He felt himself blanch, his head swimming. "I think I know where they were going."

"They went left, Boss." Tony waited for a beat before stepping around Nick and heading for his car. "Yeah, I think they're heading there, too."

Nick scrambled after him, running around the car to the passenger's side and opening the door. He had it open and was half-way in before Tony had hung up and settled himself behind the wheel. "I'm going with you," he insisted, his expression determined. "She's my sister and she's in trouble. I'm going with you."

Tony muttered something that could've been a curse under his breath but which was lost in the slamming of the car door. "Put your seatbelt on," was all he said as he started the engine and put his foot down on the gas.

* * *

"You thought he was a hero but he wasn't." Reginald Bronson Junior told her derisively, a smirk on his face as she shrank away from him. "You recognise me, don't you? You knew my dad pretty well. Reggie, you called him."

Abby stayed silent, her arms wrapped around herself as they sped towards their destination. She recognised him, yes, but wasn't sure why he wanted to hurt her. Reggie Bronson was the man who'd found her and the others traipsing through the woods after making their escape. He was the one who'd taken them to safety, reunited them with their parents.

He'd saved their lives.

The man sitting beside her was undoubtedly his son. He looked so much like his father but instead of the sad look that had always been present in Reggie's eyes, there was a frenzied glint in his son's.

"The old man said he was just wandering in the woods, walking the dogs that night, didn't he? Lame excuse. Really lame," Reginald scoffed. "I always wondered why the cops didn't see through it straight away. And I always wondered why the others didn't just spill their guts like the spineless wimps they are. They were always scared of him, though. Never figured that out. Never knew what he had over them."

"I don't understand what you're saying." Abby broke her silence, her eyes narrowed as she stared out at the passing scenery. "Reggie saved us. Why he was there isn't relevant. He was there and he got us to safety before they could find us."

Reginald laughed, a horribly familiar sound that made her squirm in her seat. "That's what he wanted you to think, Babe. That's what he wanted to believe himself." He looked at her, catching her eye, and she saw something she didn't like on his face. "My dearest dad is the reason you were there in the first place, darling. He started the operation, then chickened out and wanted to end it. The others didn't agree, so he left on bad terms."

Abby shook her head, refusing to believe it. The Reggie Bronson she remembered had been kind and concerned. He'd even visited her in hospital, bringing her magazines and chocolate and flowers. "Then you're not the son of the man I thought you were."

"Oh, I'm his son, alright." Reginald shot her another grin, another flash of those white teeth. "He got me to read the descriptions of the overseas clients, you know. I looked for girls that matched it at school, made notes, took pictures when none of you were watching. It was Dad who got me involved, Abigail, and me who chose you."

"I don't believe you." She shook her head again, arms wrapped tightly around her upper body as he drove. "I don't believe a word you're saying."

"I figured as much," he murmured, putting his foot down on the accelerator once they were on a fairly open road. "That's why I'm going to prove it to you before I take you home."

She had a horrible, sinking feeling in her stomach that they'd disagree about where her home actually was so decided to stay silent, hoping Tony had made it to the hotel and realised she was gone. Hopefully, he'd be right behind them with Gibbs, Ziva and McGee not too far behind.

She'd been lucky in escaping the clutches of the Hell House the first time. Abby crossed her fingers and hoped her luck would last.

He forced her down into the cellar, the gun he held steadily in her direction all the motivation she needed to follow his order.

She just needed to buy some time, Abby told herself firmly, picking her way gingerly down the rotten steps to the place she never wanted to see again for as long as she lived.

If she lived.

Reginald stared at the cages, a sickening smile she would describe as nostalgic crossing over his face as he inhaled the scent of dirt and damp air deeply. "We were here not so long ago," he told her gleefully, an almost childlike excitement on his features. Almost childlike, but nowhere near as innocent. "A few days, in fact. It was like old times, seeing you asleep in your cage. Defenceless, helpless. I could've had you then, you know, but I waited. I wanted you to remember me, to remember what we had before."

"We had nothing before." She pressed herself against the wall adjacent to the cages, determined she wouldn't step inside one of them again. "I don't even know you."

"Yes, you do." He grinned at her, lopsided and almost... love struck. It made her feel sick to her stomach. "Think, Abigail. Try to remember me."

She tried, if only to appease him, but her mind was blank. She hadn't known Reggie had a son, let alone a son her age who'd gone to the same school as she had. "I'm sorry, I really don't remember you. Were we in any classes together...?"

Reginald gave her a frustrated look. "Not from school," he told her scathingly. "From here."

She shook her head and watched as he picked up a discarded sledgehammer. She flinched when he swung it back over his shoulder, confusion and relief warring inside her when he walked into her cage rather than towards her.

As he swung at the wall, Abby eyed the stairs, wondering if she'd make it up them before he noticed and fired his gun.

"Don't even think about," he called out, another grin on his face as he popped his head around the door of the cage, waving the gun at her as if he'd read her thoughts. "One creak and I'll shoot, Abigail."

"I thought you wanted me alive," Abby returned quietly. "If you wanted me dead, you could've killed me in DC."

"I don't want you dead," he sounded almost cheerful, disappearing back into the cage, speaking in between dull thuds as he hit the wall. "But I'm a doctor, just so you know. I can put you back together again if you get hurt."

"Great." Still, she edged towards the stairs just in case an opportunity arose.

His jubilant shout stopped her from getting more than a few feet away from her goal and Reginald left the cage wearing a triumphant expression. He didn't seem to notice that she'd moved, lunging for her, grabbing her arm and dragging her with him back to her cage. Abby dug her heels in but couldn't get any purchase in the dirt.

"You'll remember soon," Reginald promised, pushing her in front of him, forward, into the cage. "You might not have seen me but you'll have heard me, Abigail. I used to talk to you all of the time, remember?"

She found herself staring at a gaping hole, at the small passageway beyond it that had been concealed from view. A narrow tunnel, wide enough for maybe two people at a push, spanned the back of all of the cells.

"You... You were spying on us? Watching us?" She twisted in his grasp, jerking away from him. "You were here the whole time?"

He didn't seem to register her disgust or anger, his expression one of twisted pride. "I had to go to school during the week. Didn't want anyone asking questions. But when I wasn't there, I was here. Every day. I watched you all, that's how I knew Maria was thinking about getting away. I told Dad and the others and they dealt with her."

"You're the reason they killed her? The reason they took her away?" Abby stumbled over the brick and stone he knocked away, finding herself in the damp, dark tunnel with her back pressed against a cobweb ridden wall just so she could avoid the hand he reached out to her. "You watched them beat us, watched them kill the others, and you did nothing about it? You just *watched*?"

His expression changed slowly as he realised she wasn't as pleased with his revelation as he was. He frowned at her, genuine puzzlement on his face. "I was looking out for you," he told her in a small voice, all traces of arrogance quickly fading under a look of hurt. "I wouldn't let them kill you, Abigail. Not when they promised you'd be mine."

"Before they shipped me off to whoever would pay the highest?" Her voice was shrill even to her own ears and Abby took a small step to the side, towards the bend in the tunnel she could see out of the corner of her eye. "Did you think they'd let you keep me? Because they wouldn't. They already had a buyer in mind when they brought me here and you know that."

"I could've talked them around." Reginald shrugged, sincerely believing the words that were leaving his mouth. "I would've found them someone else, someone who fit their requirements. I just had to wait till I was eighteen, Abigail. Then I could have you." His expression hardened. "But you had to ruin it all, didn't you? You had to run and ruin it all."

Alarmed at the sudden switch in his demeanour, having learned enough from past cases at NCIS and encounters with crazy ex-boyfriends to know it wasn't a good sign, Abby took a chance and ran.

She had no way of knowing where the tunnel ended or whether she was running in the right direction but she ran on blindly, feeling her way forward when she heard him enter the tunnel behind her.

* * *

Tony and Nick opened their car doors at the same time, both heading towards the front of the house. They stopped when another car pulled up, pausing to acknowledge Gibbs, Ziva and McGee.

"Bronson's car," McGee confirmed needlessly, drawing his weapon in unison with his teammates.

"It's the car I saw Abby in," Nick responded. "Bronson as in Reggie Bronson? The guy I saw her with wasn't that old."

"You saw her with his son," Tony supplied. "Maybe you should wait in the car, Nick."

The sound of a shot being fired made them all start. "No. Not a chance." Shaking his head, Nick squared his shoulders and started towards the front door. "That's my sister in there."

Tony exchanged a look with Gibbs, who gave a small, impatient nod. "Then stay behind us. Don't get in the way."

The special agents led the way into the house, with Nick close behind. While he knew sign language well having been raised by two deaf parents, Nick was clueless when the foursome began gesturing to each other and instead stayed back, lingering near the door, listening for any sign of his sister.

They all froze when there was another shot, followed by a strangled cry and a shout of anger. That was all the warning they got before Abby burst into the room from a door they hadn't noticed, her eyes wild and her body covered in dirt and grime.

Nick noticed the blood first.

He grabbed for her, pulling her roughly against him and, with that act, he saved her life.

Reginald Bronson Junior followed a few moments later, sliding to a halt when he noticed the four guns pointed at him and the woman he'd been chasing in the arms of a man he didn't recognise. His eyes narrowed, an unattractive snarl arranging his mouth, and aimed his gun in Abby's direction.

Four shots rang out simultaneously and he fell to the floor.

Abby's legs gave way beneath her and her brother lowered her gently to the ground as her friends looked on, each of them wanting to go to her but holding themselves back. Nick kept his arms around her, his eyes bright as he cradled her against his chest.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled into her hair. "I'm sorry for everything, Abby."

Exhausted, Abby wasn't really aware of his words or of who was holding her at first. She sat and stared at the body of the man who'd forced her to confront her past, who hadn't been able to let her let it go and felt a strange sense of peace settle over her.

The nightmare was finally over.

* * *

The funeral for Reggie Bronson Senior wasn't very well attended. Those who would have once gone refused to when the full story was revealed in the papers. They felt betrayed, angry that their reluctant hero hadn't been much of a hero at all.

All but two of the girls he'd supposedly helped to rescue refused to attend and no one, not even Abby herself, could blame them. She stood with her hands clasped in front of her, watching as the simple coffin containing his body was lowered into the ground, aware of the presence of her friends and family.

"Does this mean we have to start the countdown again?" Lori asked from her place at Abby's side. "I mean, will it be twenty-one years next time or the first anniversary of it all being over?"

Abby gave her a small, tired smile. "Does it really matter?" She shrugged her shoulders. "It's really over now. That's the most important thing, right? We survived. Again."

"You survived." Lori returned the smile and reached out to touch her arm gently. "You're unbreakable." There was a moment of silence and Lori let her hand drop reluctantly. "I should go if I'm going to make my flight."

"I'll see you next year if not before," Abby murmured, returning her attention to the hole in the ground where Reggie Bronson lay.

As Lori left, Nick stepped up to take her place beside his sister. He stood for a few moments without saying anything, his eyes fixed on the barely visible coffin but his focus on the woman beside him. "I felt guilty," he told her quietly. "When we were kids, when they took you... I thought it was my fault you were gone."

"Why would you think that?" Startled, Abby turned to face him. "You had nothing to do with it, Nick."

"It was because of me you argued with Mom and Dad," Nick murmured. "Don't you remember?"

Abby's brow furrowed and she shook her head. "I don't remember what that argument was about, Nick. It was so long ago..."

"It was because of me," he repeated guiltily. "I'd been in your room. I'd lost an action figure and for some reason, I thought you were hiding it from me. I went in your room looking for it and knocked over a bottle of nail varnish you'd left open on the desk. It spilled on the carpet. I... I remember trying to clean it up but the stain just got worse. Then I tried to hide it but you... You came home and saw it and got mad and started shouting at me. Mom and Dad told you to stop and you started arguing with them." He glanced up at her guiltily. "You really don't remember that?"

"No, I don't. There was no stain when I got back," she answered just as softly. "I'd remember if there was."

"Mom and Dad bought a new carpet for your room when you were... while you were gone." Nick hung his head. "I thought you knew. I thought you blamed me."

She shook her head vehemently and took a step forward, wrapping her arms around him tightly. "I've never blamed you, Nick. I could never blame you." She stepped back, blinking rapidly. "I thought I'd done something to make you hate me but I couldn't figure out what it was."

Nick ran a hand through his hair, his smile tentative. "I guess we're as bad as each other."

"It must run in the family." Abby's smile was just as uncertain as her brother's.

"It really would be nice if you came to see us sometime, Abby. Maybe you could spend a week or two with us at the house."

"That'd be good." Her smile brightened and she leaned in on impulse to hug him again before letting him go. "I'll call you when I get to DC."

"You better." Nick took a few steps away, waving at her over his shoulder as he walked away towards his car.

Alone at the graveside, Abby crouched down to pick up the wild flowers she'd lain at the foot of the grave earlier. "I know you were responsible for a lot of what happened to us but I also know you tried to fix things, too. It might've been too late but you tried and that's got to be worth something. Not a lot, I'll admit, but something." She let the flowers drop into the hole, where they landed atop of the casket. "If you hadn't changed your mind and helped us, we'd all be dead or worse. For that, I hope you find peace."

After a few more moments of contemplation, Abby finally felt ready to leave. She stood, wincing a little as the stitches in her arm where Bronson Junior's bullet had grazed her, and turned on her heel, striding confidently towards the car where her friends waited, ready to take her back to DC and her future.

* * *

End.


End file.
